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What are the Radii of those Cacti? – on Latin Loanwords

There are a lot of stadia in this city, aren’t there? Do you think there are any octopi in the sea? I’m also curious about the cacti around here: in fact, I’m interested in all the flora and fauna!

You may not find much wrong with the above. Well, hopefully you’ll think “Who on Earth would actually say that!?” But in terms of grammar and vocabulary, it wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows.

What about this though:

There are lots of nice cafés here, but we eventually decided to go to a nice Mediterranean restaurant. We had two pizze for lunch, and two baklavá for dessert. Afterwards, we picked up our Rucksäcke and left.

You’re probably in agreement with my old friend Red Squiggly Line that some of those words are simply not English, only an animal would capitalise a non-proper noun in the middle of a sentence, and why yes of course the s in cafés is pronounced!

But if you look at things objectively in the cold light of general English practice, then the following words are all loanwords: stadium, octopus, cactus, flora, fauna, café, restaurant, pizza, baklava and rucksack. A loanword is a word that has entered the English language wholesale from another language.

What we usually do with loanwords is treat them exactly like other English words. In the case of making a loanword plural then, we usually just add an s. That’s why you order two pizzas, not two pizze (though you should really order only one. Come on).

But we don’t usually do that with the loanwords in the first piece. What sets them apart from the loanwords in the second piece is that they come from Latin, and we tend to treat Latin loanwords with a sort of reverence. We don’t vulgarly slap an s on their backsides and send them off onto the lonely streets of English pluralism, with nary a conjugation to their name. No, we keep their original plural forms, and some of us even take pride in ensuring we use the “correct” form.

But why?

Partly I think it’s because of the awe some people have for Latin, this perception of it as an Ur-language from which so many languages sprung.

There’s also the fact that during the Middle Ages, Latin was the language of Christianity and Learning, and therefore of power. While those days are obviously long gone, Latin seems to have retained some of its prestige, even if we don’t know why. We still use many Latin terms, especially legal terms. Traditionalist Catholics love their Latin Mass (and that was only done away with for regular Catholics in the 1960s). No self-respecting Premiership team of spoiled flouncing millionaires would go without a Latin motto. And who doesn’t get a little electric frisson of power when they know that a pair of those things with eight tentacles are called “octopi?” Probably not everyone, actually. Hopefully.

It’s an interesting case of the curious temporality of languages. Yes, they always evolve, much to the chagrin of purists, but equally some apparent anachronisms survive. I find it fascinating that some people will insist on using the ancient plural forms of certain words in complete disagreement with the normal conventions of their native tongue, all because of the social status that language enjoyed over 1,000 years ago that they’re probably not really aware of. Languages evolve slowly, but so does its relationship with society. Like a glacier, Latin receded slowly from relevance, but it dropped off little nuggets of language as it did so, an odd phrase here or there, or a vestigial convention that we still use today.

So finally, which is correct: octopuses or octopi?

The strict grammarian would say octopuses, because the word has entered the English language and must be treated like most other English nouns.

The realist would say octopi, because most people say that, and usage determines meaning.

I say, whichever one you use, most people will understand, so choose the one you prefer. But if you did go for octopi, take a moment to think of some Ancient Roman marine biologist using the same word. The classics never go out of fashion.

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54 thoughts on “What are the Radii of those Cacti? – on Latin Loanwords”

[…] this case, profound derives from Latin, and deep from German. I’ve already written about how we still tend to treat words of Latin origin with reverence. They tend to be used to describe anything of religious, scientific, or psychological importance, […]

“Like a glacier, Latin receded slowly from relevance, but it dropped off little nuggets of language as it did so”
Who would have thought linguistics could be so epic? Thank you for this article, it was a pleasure to read 🙂

In the 1500s when the English started to get serious about having their own language, they got a few scholars together, who threw all invading languages, together with the local bits and pieces, into a big stew pot. They gave it a few good stirs, then started pulling words out again and hung them up to dry like noodles.

Some words had gotten letters switched around up, while some stayed relatively intact. Others seem to have collected letters they didn’t originally have. Thus you get mouse and mice. Siege, seize, and weigh. And whey. And the way they dried is the whey we’ve been in ever since. The octopus & cactus might have gotten their eyes attached during that stirring process.

[…] languages, as they’re a lot closer to Latin than English. And of course there are plenty of Latin-based words in English, but many of them have a more everyday word of Germanic origin which it would be much more natural […]

[…] I also think it’s simply a case of wanting to make the date stand out from the 364 others in the year. July 4th sounds like any other date, but Fourth of July! Well that immediately draws attention to itself, doesn’t it? And I don’t think that’s just a case of it being in a different format. I think it also sounds special because the structure of the Fourth of July is very Latin, and we still have an unconscious respect for Latin. […]

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[…] It’s September, and that always makes me think of the names of the months. September of course, is the ninth month of the year, but the name might make you think it’s the seventh, if you know your Latin. […]

[…] who knows a little about Roman history might take issue with this usage. The word comes from the Latin verb decimare, which meant to kill one in ten of a certain group, as punishment for the whole. It […]

[…] the case for Romance-Language speakers, as similar words to those in their languages tend to be much more formal in English. I will say though that this is a valid technique for people who are still at a lower or […]

[…] for ship, navis, is feminine might also have an influence on this, considering how we’ve long revered the language. In French on the other hand, the grammatical masculinity of the word bateau means French speakers […]

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Well, loanwords, who knew! So I apologise if this is a silly question, but how do we know if a word is a loanword? I mean, how do we know it was not an English word that was adopted by another language, rather than the other way round? Is that a dumb question> Apologies if so…

It’s a good question, and it can be hard to tell. With older words it’s hard to know, and often words vary slightly and it’s hard to say which came first. But with more modern words it’s easier to know. “Croissant,” for example is the French for “crescent,” and instead of calling the pastry a “crescent,” or coming up with a new name, we just used the French one. Once writing became common it was also easier to keep track of. People would write in books, newspapers, and articles about new words from other languages coming into fashion.

[…] noticed that I talk a lot about Romance languages here. These are languages largely derived from Latin. Currently there are five main Romance languages: Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, and […]

[…] inhabitants of any region, or at least its inhabitants before colonisation. It comes from the Latin aborigines (first inhabitants), and was originally used to refer to the inhabitants of Latium, the […]

[…] learning Latin in school. And because in Latin you can’t split an infinitive, and because Latin has always been revered, people decided that you therefore shouldn’t split an infinitive in English […]

[…] simple. The word entered the English language in the late 14th century. It was derived from the Latin secretarius (clerk, confidante), and referred to confidential officers of powerful individuals such […]

[…] modern term audit (first appearing in the early 15th century) is an abbreviation of the Medieval Latin auditus compotis (audit of an account), when indeed, the state of such accounts were presented […]